


Hallway Confessions

by Grizi



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grizi/pseuds/Grizi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John left in order to avoid his roommate...he's royally pissed when he returns...a two-chapter ditty from each man's point of view...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Drunk Returns

John was angry at himself. He had allowed himself to drink too much. He'd already made the bad decision to drink in the first place. But he'd needed to clear out from 221B for the evening. He'd needed to forget for a moment who his roommate was. He couldn't stand to be alone in the apartment with Sherlock. It wasn't that he didn't want to be there. It was that he was afraid Sherlock would see.

When they were on cases or working clues or involved in their own individual projects, it was fine…Okay, it wasn't fine. John was nervous even then that Sherlock would figure it out…or worse, had figured it out. He knew that Sherlock was always hyper-focused when a case or experiment had his attention. But he wasn't so stupid as to believe that Sherlock would't notice his attitude change. Thus the reason he'd vacated.

Sherlock had been sitting on the sofa, laptop on his crossed legs, staring over the top of the computer at John. John had tried to studiously ignore Sherlock and focus on writing up the notes from the latest case they had finished. But Sherlock's attention had gotten the better of him and he'd suddenly jumped from his spot at the secretary.

"I'm going out," he'd said as he'd walked over to his jacket hanging on the hook.

"Where?" Sherlock asked, his focus suddenly on the computer in his lap as John pulled his jacket on.

John checked to be sure his keys were in his pocket before he said, "Just out. Don't wait up."

He had moved down the stairs and out the door so quickly he doubted he would have heard Sherlock's response even if there had been one.

Now he stood on the landing, debating with himself. He could go upstairs to his bed and sleep off his drunk or he could go into the kitchen where Sherlock was working on his latest experiment and tell him how he felt. He had more than enough alcohol in his system to say what he wanted to, but his brain was still in enough control to remind him that the subject of his rumination was Sherlock. Sherlock was the one who loved puzzles and theories and experiments more than any human being. Sherlock was the man who had once told him he was married to his work. Sherlock was the one who John knew would mock him for weeks to come if he knew how John truly felt. John sighed and turned to head up to the next level. His foot had barely hit the first tread when he heard his name.

"John," Sherlock said from the other room, "Could you hand me a pen?"

He sighed again and then almost growled before he stepped back onto the landing.

"Why don't you bloody well get it yourself?" he asked as he stepped into the parlor to look for a pen.

He didn't expect an answer. He never got one whenever he asked the question. So he was stunned when Sherlock was suddenly standing in front of him, an angry scowl on his face.

"What the bloody hell is your fucking problem?" Sherlock nearly shouted.

John blinked at him. Sherlock very rarely swore and for him to swear so vehemently shocked John.

"What do you mean?" John asked dumbly.

"You haven't spoken civilly to me in days. You've barely spent any time with me in the past three weeks. Any time I ask you something, I get a sarcastic response. I don't mind, John. I've been known to do the same to you. But you're not me, John," Sherlock said as he wound down, "but I- damn it, John, I miss you."

John stood in shock for the second time in as many minutes. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. He watched stupidly as Sherlock stepped closer.

"Sherlock, I-" John hesitated. He reached out and touched Sherlock's arm to reassure. He felt Sherlock's arm tense under his hand, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, John," he responded. John heard the hurt in his voice and frowned in confusion. Sherlock stepped even closer, invading John's personal space, "Just tell me what I did," Sherlock begged, "so I can apologize and we can go back to what we were before."

John inhaled deeply, trying to clear his head. He was beginning to think he had imbibed even more than he had originally thought. He inhaled again. He smelled the mix of pungent chemicals that Sherlock had obviously used for the experiment that sat forgotten in the kitchen. He could smell the combination of tea and tobacco that seemed to permeate Sherlock's skin. He could smell the ale and whisky on his own breath. Most of all, he smelled his own arousal at Sherlock's nearness. He took a small step back but couldn't force himself to release Sherlock's arm.

"It isn't your fault," John said quietly, "It really isn't."

He watched Sherlock's consternation and confusion change to understanding.

"Don't," John said sharply, stopping the words he could see Sherlock forming, "Just…don't, Sherlock."

He knew he couldn't handle it if Sherlock mocked, or worse, laughed at his feelings. He felt the heat rising in his face and looked away into the dark of the room.

"John," Sherlock whispered.

John's eyes snapped back to Sherlock's face. John saw all the signs of desire, but he couldn't discount the alcoholic haze buzzing around his brain.

"Sher- I-" he tried to breathe and couldn't. He used the only physical connection between them to push Sherlock away, "Don't," he said again as he side-stepped to the doorway, "I'm going to bed."

He turned and moved back to the steps to his room but never made it. He found himself flipped back around and surrounded by Sherlock's arms. Sherlock's mouth crushed against his as he was pressed against the wall. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's body tightly and kissed him back. He licked and nipped at Sherlock's mouth, nibbling on his lower lip. Sherlock gasped and John invaded his mouth with his tongue. Both of them tested the other, pressing and retreating, battling for dominance and yet submitting to the other. Sherlock pressed his body into John and he could feel Sherlock's erection pressed against him through his jeans. He didn't know who groaned, but he felt it vibrate through his entire body.

"John," he heard Sherlock say, "John, please."

He sighed at his name on his breath.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" John murmured against his mouth softly, "What do you want and why?"

He felt Sherlock's hesitation before he suddenly pulled away. John felt the loss immediately and steeled himself against the whimper of pain he felt bubbling under the surface as Sherlock stepped back and turned away.

"John, I-" he muttered and then stopped.

Suddenly, it all fell into place for John. The buzz of alcohol that had made all of this seem like just a fantasy was gone. He knew. And suddenly, all of his own fears were gone. He stepped closer to Sherlock and gently grasped his arm to turn him.

"Sherlock," he said quietly. When Sherlock didn't turn, John stepped around and in front of him, "Sher- look at me," he commanded.

Sherlock looked at him and John gasped.

"Sherlock," he whispered in awe. Everything he felt, everything he wanted he saw reflected in Sherlock's eyes. He couldn't bring himself to ask the question directly so he simply asked, "Sherlock?"

The fear crept into Sherlock's eyes and John hated it. He quickly stepped closer, his hand sliding up to his face and cupping his cheek to hold him still.

"Sherlock, love," he whispered, not realizing he let the endearment slip, "Please…tell me."

"I tried, John," Sherlock said, sadness creeping into his voice, "I failed…I failed miserably. I'm sorry."

John felt himself tense and forced himself to relax. He reminded himself who was speaking. Sherlock was the one who was often more machine than human. Sherlock was the man whose form of showing affection was playing a lullaby on his violin. Sherlock was the one whose emotional development was so stunted he couldn't express himself emotionally to save his life.

"Don't be," John said gently, "It's okay, Sherlock. I love you, too."

The look of awe on Sherlock's face was priceless and John would have laughed had the moment not been so serious.

"You do?" he asked incredulously.

John did laugh at that.

"For a genius, my friend," he said with a smile, "You sure are blind."

Sherlock threw both his hands to his face, momentarily trapping John's one hand tightly against his face.

"Why didn't I see it?" he asked himself, "It all makes sense now!"

He stepped back and began to pace.

"Your mood swings…Avoiding me…not able to look me in the eye…Oh! I'm an idiot!" he said as he turned to look at John, the look of disgust at himself and the utter awe at the implication of John's feelings mixing on his countenance.

John grinned at him.

"I've told you that before."

Sherlock laughed loudly and then wrapped his arms around John.

"Yes, you have, John," he said quietly in the shorter man's ear, "And I love you all the more for it."

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and held on tight, mentally shaking his head. Being Sherlock's friend was not easy. Being the man he loved would only be more crazy and convoluted. As he hugged Sherlock even more tightly against him, he thought _Look out world! Sherlock Holmes is in love! This could get interesting!_


	2. The Scientist Makes a Move

John came in more pissed than usual as was evidenced by his stumbling up the first flight of stairs into the apartment. Sherlock heard John pause on the landing and held his breath. He really wanted to finish the experiment sitting in front of him, but he was also curious to see if John would act differently than the past few weeks with more than a few pints in him.

Unless they'd been at a crime scene or engrossed in clues, John had been systematically avoiding spending any one on one time with him. Sherlock would never have admitted it to anyone, but he missed John's calming presence. John's steadiness, his quietness seeped into him and relaxed the fevered insanity that was his brain. A simple word, a gentle touch from John would center Sherlock and put every chaotic thought into some semblance of order that only helped him to work through the puzzles Detective Inspector Lestrade would throw their way…Except one.

Lately, the only thing he could not put onto a neat little shelf of a neat little corner in a neat little room of his Mind Palace any longer was John. He had tried and succeeded in keeping John in his niche for almost two years, but something had shifted not so long ago. John, or more specifically, for Sherlock was nothing if not precisely specific, the thought of John as his lover, had begun to occupy more and more of his Mind Palace. To Sherlock, that distraction would normally annoy him. However, the thought of John as a lover not only did not irritate but calmed him even further. He became more hyper-focused on the puzzles, seemingly solving them with lightning speed, in order to try to ignore what he had finally deduced. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective had fallen in love with Doctor John Hamish Watson.

But John had been distant in the past few weeks. He hardly spent time with him. He never touched Sherlock any more, even to emphasize a point as he had been wont to do. Worst in Sherlock's mind was John's coldness. He had been sarcastic and rude each time Sherlock had asked a question or posed a hypothesis. Sherlock was afraid John had come to hate him for some reason, and that, more than the distraction of love, frightened him.

Sherlock sat for several long moments waiting for the figure on the landing to make a decision. He heard John sigh and the tell-tale creak of the first tread to the upper level.

"John," he said quickly, "Could you hand me a pen?"

"Why don't you bloody well get it yourself?" he heard John mutter from the parlor.

He found himself standing in the parlor in front of John before he realised he had thought to move. The anger that had motivated him had come from the frustration, he knew, but he couldn't contain it.

"What the bloody hell is your fucking problem?" Sherlock asked loudly, the anger evident in his voice.

He watched as John blinked in shock before he asked, "What do you mean?"

"You haven't spoken civilly to me in days. You've barely spent any time with me in the past three weeks. Any time I ask you something, I get a sarcastic response. I don't mind, John. I've been known to do the same to you. But you're not me, John," Sherlock said as he wound down, "but I- damn it, John, I miss you."

Sherlock stepped closer, trying to find a way to apologize for his outburst, but he couldn't get over the hurt enough to voice it.

"Sherlock, I-" John hesitated. Sherlock felt himself tense as John's hand gently grasped his bicep, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, John," he said quietly as he stepped even closer, "Just tell me what I did," Sherlock begged, "so I can apologize and we can go back to what we were before."

He watched as John took a deep breath to steel himself for whatever else he was going to say. He could see so many different emotions crossing John's face, but he couldn't read them for as fast as they came and disappeared.

"It isn't your fault," John said simply, "It really isn't."

Suddenly, he understood…at least, he hoped he did. John had feelings that he was trying to ignore perhaps. Or perhaps he was as overwhelmed by his feelings as Sherlock was.

"Don't," John said sharply, stopping the words Sherlock was trying to form, "Just…don't, Sherlock."

"John," Sherlock whispered. He wanted to tell him; wanted to show him that he would never laugh; wanted to tell him how much he desired him.

John's eyes snapped back to Sherlock's face, but the hurt and anger Sherlock saw confused him.

"Sher- I-" John started and then pushed him away gently, "Don't," he said again as he side-stepped to the doorway, "I'm going to bed."

Sherlock watched as John turned and moved back to the steps to his room. In that instant, he knew he'd buggered everything and he needed to fix it before John was upstairs or nothing would be right again. He hesitated for three seconds before he grabbed John, turned him and crushed his mouth against John's. He felt his body press John's against the wall. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's body tightly and kissed him back. He licked and nipped at Sherlock's mouth, nibbling on his lower lip. Sherlock gasped and John invaded his mouth with his tongue. Both of them tested the other, pressing and retreating, battling for dominance and yet submitting to the other. Sherlock pressed his body into John and he could feel John's erection pressed against him through his robe and pajama pants. He didn't know who groaned, but he felt it vibrate through his entire body. He wanted nothing more than John to love him, he realised. He wanted John like he had never wanted another man.

"John," he begged, "John, please."

"What do you want, Sherlock?" John murmured against his mouth softly, "What do you want and why?"

He hesitated before he suddenly pulled away.

"John, I-" he muttered and then stopped.

John grabbed his arm and tugged on it. He knew it was the indicator to turn to look at him, but he couldn't do it. He was worried that this was all a part of his chaotic brain making fun of him.

"Sherlock," he said quietly. When Sherlock didn't turn, John stepped around and in front of him, "Sher- look at me," he commanded.

Sherlock looked at him sadly and John gasped.

"Sherlock," he whispered. Sherlock held his breath at the look of hope on John's face, "Sherlock? Sherlock, love," John whispered, not realizing he let the endearment slip, "Please…tell me."

"I tried, John," Sherlock said, sadness creeping into his voice, "I failed…I failed miserably. I'm sorry."

He had. He had tried so long to keep John from his mind. Sherlock felt the fear wash over his face. He was exposed, his feelings naked. He hated feeling so vulnerable, even to John. He had tried not to love John, not to place him so high in esteem. Sentiment was for fools. He was no fool, except when it came to John and he was afraid John would never love him…at least, not the way he wanted John to love him. John was straight. He had made that abundantly clear repeatedly over the past two years. He had tried to let John know that it was okay, that he was married to his work; that he would never try to make a move on John. But here, he just had. He had just forced himself on John and while John had responded, he also knew John had been drinking. Wasn't that the whole reason he had decided to confront him?

"Don't be," John said gently, "It's okay, Sherlock. I love you, too."

"You do?" he asked incredulously. He knew he couldn't have heard correctly.

John did laugh at that.

"For a genius, my friend," he said with a smile, "You sure are blind."

Sherlock threw both his hands to his face, momentarily trapping John's one hand tightly against his face.

"Why didn't I see it?" he asked himself, "It all makes sense now!"

He stepped back and began to pace.

"Your mood swings…Avoiding me…not able to look me in the eye…Oh! I'm an idiot!" he said as he turned to look at John.

John grinned at him.

"I've told you that before."

Sherlock laughed loudly and then wrapped his arms around John.

"Yes, you have, John," he said quietly in the shorter man's ear, "And I love you all the more for it."

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and Sherlock nuzzled his nose into John's hair lovingly. John loved him. He loved John. It wouldn't be easy. Even he could admit to himself he was difficult to care for. But he would strive to be better, do better if it meant he would have John in his life.

He felt John's chuckle and instinctively knew what he was thinking: _Look out world! Sherlock Holmes is in love! This could get interesting!_


End file.
